


Having your back

by pixiedurango



Series: Richard Armitage - Sensual Visual Prompts [15]
Category: John Porter - Fandom, Richard Armitage - Fandom, Strike Back
Genre: Comfort/Angst, F/M, Falling In Love, Flashbacks, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Male-Female Friendship, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, caring for each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 23:12:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17212634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixiedurango/pseuds/pixiedurango
Summary: It's a night to be honored for their service but all in a sudden hell breaks loose again and it proofs once more why Porter is the leader of the pack. Caring for those he's responsible for. And for some obviously even more.





	Having your back

**Author's Note:**

> This belongs to a collection of prompts I opened up for my followers on tumblr to choose a character portrayed by Richard Armitage and a collection of sensual/sexy gifs I put together merely for this purpose.  
> After the tumblr purge many of the stories got banned/deleted/hidden which I assume due to the nature of the gifs since the stories itself are rarely really explicit.  
> This is why I eventually decided to transfer my works to my Ao3 which I didn't do for the sheer number of Fandoms/Shows/Characters those stories belong to. My admiration for Richard Armitage let me write all those stories and I hope people will like it.  
> The gifs will be posted along with the stories so readers might decide whether I caught the spirit or not.

 

This is supposed to be fun! It should not feel so…  _terrifying!_  
It’s like I’ve stripped down my backbone with my uniform. I should not feel so naked. And vulnerable. My dress is cute and so am I, but that does not console me or gives me strength. I feel awkward. Like a dress-up doll.

And I can tell all of us feel pretty much the same as we stand there awkward in our fancy clothes. I see Porter shifting his weight from one foot to another as he stands there in a rented tux. Looking sharp and and handsome but his face tells me how uncomfortable he feels even though he manages to keep up his mask well enough to fool strangers.

_‘Sly and sexy sonofabitch’_  I can’t help thinking and I hastily turn away my face so he would not be able to guess my thoughts. Sporting a smug smile he’s leaning against one of those giant marble pillars, playing cool but whenever he thinks no one is watching I catch him fidgeting with his fingers until he realizes what he’s doing and stuffs them back into his pockets.  
I could bet that his hands are just as sweaty as mine.

Porter and the rest of the boys had been whistling like teenage idiots when I appeard in my silly ball gown to join the group. Have they really never seen me with a decent hairdo, wearing make-up and something else than my uniform? Or faded cargo pants and rugged shirts? Obviously not because they act as if I’m the first woman they to get to see like  _ever_.

Long, fancy evening dresses are as mandatory as tuxes tonight so I barely had a choice. And to be honest? I love dressing up once in a while. It just feels less awkward when your workmates are not around while doing it…  
But this charity thing is obligatory to attend for all of us and here I am. Following dress-code just like anybody else. Blending in. Usually I’m good at it. Even if it means wearing heels.  

They suddenly seem to be reminded that I – in fact – am not  _one of the boys_. Not tonight. On a mission, out in the fields working an operation it rarely matters that I’m a proud owner of a pair of perky tits – but tonight it obviously does.

Porter makes the smarmiest jokes of them all and can’t stop teasing but I very well recognize his eyes lingering on me longer than usual, with a strange warmth and the hint of desire deep in the watery blue that makes his gaze so mesmerizing. He does not try to hit on me but his eyes are always there. I do not mind and so I won’t call him out on it, just wanting to see where this will lead us.

I have just no idea how much shit will hit the fan later that night…

We are here to be celebrated. Honored as some kind of heroes but the public obviously does not like to be reminded that heroes are made on battle fields. That’s why we are stripped from our uniforms and have to walk around awkwardly pretending to be what we are not because none of us is very used to be a civilian.  
But they need the money. And the good press and so they told us to play along, for once joining  the silly masquerade. Who would think that we feel like boneless fish out of the water without our uniforms.

It’s ridiculous, when I think of it and I square my shoulders to force through like I always do, no matter what.  
  
“Think of it like we’re going undercover.” Porter hisses over when we are about to enter the ball room and I think it’s a good advice that we all should follow and I nod with a little smile.

Everything goes fine.

Bubbly and speeches. Some dancing which feels awkward no matter who holds me on the dance floor. I decide that dancing with Porter feels the least stupid because we both feel out of place and bullshit through the situation together as good as we are capable of. Making bad puns and dirty jokes in a low voice and for once indulge in idle, sarcastic gossip about who seems to make shady business around here and why there are so many escort girls on a occasion where people are supposed to attend with their wives. But this is what you get when you put politicians and high ranks onto a fancy party which originally is supposed to be harmless fun.

It’s actually and very surprisingly turning out to be a nice night. I can handle the poor jokes, the teasing and the awkwardness. Even Porter stepping on my toes on the dance floor or having to get up and bow in the spotlights while the president makes his dull speech is not  _that_  bad after all.

What I  _can’t_ handle is the fireworks.

I literally blackout when the first explosions light the nightly sky. Not that I faint but I just seem to phase out and see myself like from outside my own body. Standing there in my fancy ball gown on the balcony, staring upwards like a hypnotized rabbit.

Next thing I realize is someone shoving me back inside. It’s Porter. Grabbing my hand, pulling me behind him through dim, deserted corridors. Carries me more than I’m being able to use my own two feet. He collects my heels from the floor as I trip out of them, pushes them into my hand, I hold onto them like onto a life line. Stupid but that’s just what happens. He talks to me. I can’t reply, he keeps talking even though I can’t neither listen nor process.

I’m back somewhere I don’t want to be. Burning ruins. Screams, smoke and explosions from a far, the air smells like fire, death and destruction. Somewhere across the street a pile of tires is burning and it blackens the sky and stings in my lungs. Sniper bullets fly around my head and I know I’m just lucky that none of them hits me or anyone around. A tiny hand in mine. I’m pulling a faceless child with me. From cover to cover, trying to keep track with the boys who are herding a bunch of people through the war zone.

Seeing them from the back, all soldiers look pretty much the same but I always know which one Porter is. Easily the tallest of them all. Moving faster, swifter, always confident. Sometimes he’s a bit reckless but never when he has someone to watch out for.

“Hey! Focus, dammit!” A hand lands in my face, slapping me back into the deserted corridors. And the fireworks outside. At least for a moment. Enough time for him to pull me further. Porter wants me to enter a room. It’s dark, I can’t see properly what’s in there except the naked frame of a nightly window so I refuse to step in. I don’t want to go in there. Can’t make my legs do their work. Struggle in his grip. He curses nastily but does not shove or pull me further but starts moving around. He finds the switch and sudden lights are blinding me. More curses, then a muttered. “Will do!”  

Next thing is a slamming door and the noise of a door lock snapping. I swirl around in panic, but it’s only Porter with me, standing in what I now realize is a large, fancy bathroom.

“C'mon lassie, no one will see and I won’t tell!” Porter moves towards the huge bathtub which is located on the wall opposite the window. Still pulling me with him and like a rag doll I follow. He steps into the fucking bath tub and holds out his hand while he pretzels his long legs to fit inside the tub. I grab his hand. The only thing I know in a world gone mad and I follow like a robot, fold myself into his open arms, snuggle closer while outside still the world ends. “They won’t get us. I won’t let them get you. It’s a good cover.” It’s silly but it works.

I shiver, probably cry. Making any effort with make-up tonight was wasted but I don’t even care anymore.  
My brain  _knows_  that it’s just a harmless firework. It knows where I am and that nothing can harm me. But my body refuses to accept any rational explanation and keeps on throwing me back to places I had hoped to never have to see again.

Porter holds me until the last explosion has faded and a long while after that. Talks just for the sake of talking, soothing me with the calming tone of his deep baritone. Distracts me enough to keep me from snapping entirely and finally manages to bring me back to calm. I’m here and I’m not.   
The only thing real is Porter.   
Porter holding me close.   
Porter grounding me.

We probably look like lovers cuddling and doing silly shit in a bathtub together. Maybe we will even do exactly that one day, who knows. He’s hot like hell and usually I’m collected enough to know that he likes me enough to not refuse if things ever would get steamy between us.

But not today.

Today Porter is my life saver. The one that keeps me sane. And he won’t take advantage of a situation like that.  
After a long silence, when my tears have dried and I have my pulse and breath back under control again he eventually nudges me with his elbow. I’m actually lying on him and we are cuddled as close as lovers. Stiff and awkwardly I start moving away from him to sit up and he follows.

“Seems it’s over. You alright?” He asks.

I crane my neck until I can look into his face. See concern in his eyes and an impatient frown. I nod but he only relaxes a little bit and I know already he’ll not be happy with my answer.

“I’m good.”

“Actually you are  _not_.” He mutters but hesitantly returns my nod. “But for tonight it’ll work I guess. You gotta see a shrink, though, lass.”

I know he’s right and still it’s hard to admit. I have a dozen  _'buts’_  at hand and can’t voice even one of them thanks to the deadly, silencing face he’s giving me.

“Guess you’re right.” I finally lamely agree.

“Look, we’ve all been there and I know it sucks. But truth is, I can’t take you on any mission again if you can’t sort that shit out.”

“It was just  _fireworks_ …” Who am I trying to fool, him or myself? Of course my weak defense does not work.

“Yes it was and that’s exactly the reason. Listen, I won’t tell anybody. But only if you promise me to see someone asap.” That’s blackmailing and we both know it. But we also know it’s the only way to actually make me do what he asks me to do (and which he is totally right to demand no matter how much I hate it). Being left behind would be the worst.

“You’re an asshole, John Porter!” I finally say. He’s my superior officer and usually I’d be in trouble deep for such a show of disrespect. But tonight we are comrades, friends and he knows I’m teasing because he just pressed me to do something I’ll hate to do but still must.

A grin curls his lips in this typical lopsided way and he draws me closer back in his arms. It feels good and I let him, breathe in his scent. He had a scotch earlier and there is a distant hint of some cologne I never smelled on him before but decide to like.

“I have a reputation to defend after all.” He replies, still grinning and despite his cocky words he becomes some kind of soft as he still holds me.

“I  _bet!_  Does making out in a dry bathtub help with that reputation of yours?” Feeling good enough to return the tease and I stick out my tongue which makes his smirk even more smug.

“Don’t know. We shall try one day.”

“You wish, man!”

“Hell yes, I do!” And with no more words other than this bold confession or even trying anything else he shoves me up and we climb out of the tub, giving me no chance for a reply. Which comes at handy because I’m actually stunned over his words.

He’s giving me time enough to check on my make-up so I’ll not look like a sad panda out there while he unlocks the door. Leaving the bathroom, back into the dark corridor still having a little walk away to be back at the party he reaches out for my hand and I take it. Glad to have him to steady me, at least until we step into the ball room.

Seems there are new things to consider.  
And I have a promise to keep.


End file.
